


In Another Life

by itachiphobia



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 05:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12381750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachiphobia/pseuds/itachiphobia
Summary: In which Sakura's character becomes self aware.





	In Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever NaruSaku fic (more like, first ever Naruto fic lol). I had already posted this on Tumblr, but now that I've decided to use my old-ass AO3 account again, I decided to bring it here :) 
> 
> Enjoy!

**_H E R_ **

As kids, when he used to hint at his crush for me, I would shrug it off. Maybe because I found him unbearable and, frankly, really annoying. Maybe because I was just a naïve, young girl, engrossed in my own fantasies and dreams, unaware of how much this world had in store for me.

Gradually, I learned that there was more to him than just silly pranks and loud words; there was a lot more to him. His dream seemed so stupid and unrealistic at first. Surely, a loud-mouthed kid like him, how could he ever achieve such an impossible feat? But slowly, he started to prove me wrong. His otherwise annoying behaviour grew on me. I saw that there was more to his pointless declarations. He wanted to be recognised and respected. He wanted to show everyone that he was not the troublesome kid they made him out to be. He wanted to be treated like somebody.

He was so stubborn, but his stubbornness brought about change, change that I witnessed with my own eyes which would bring about hope wherever he went. It made me believe in improvement. I was so unsure of myself, of what I wanted to be. He made me believe in myself. I couldn’t help but believe in him too.

However, I liked this other boy, the boy with a dreadful past and hatred in his heart. The boy who happened to be in our team. At first it was a young girl’s silly crush on the dreamy, ‘mysterious’ boy, but then I started to see that this boy had so much more hidden deep within him, something that scared me. I wanted to reach out, to help him. My so called ‘love’ had been selfish at one point, I admit. But when he left me, when he left his home, I could only cry and beg him to stay, but to no avail.

And then _he_ came along. “The promise of a lifetime,” he called it. He said he would bring our friend back, no matter what it took. And I couldn’t help but cry and beg again, so that he could bring our friend back. Perhaps still love me back then, or somewhere that crush still existed within him. Whatever it was, he suppressed it, never forcing it onto me.

Sadly, he couldn’t keep that promise. In fact, it nearly got him killed. And at that moment, I realised that I could’ve lost him too, that my inability to do anything useful could’ve ruined everything.

And so I made a promise too; I promised that I would grow stronger so that he doesn’t have to hurt himself anymore. Not alone, at least. We would save our friend  _together_.

We then went our separate ways, because we knew we had to grow stronger. There was a daunting challenge ahead of us and we had to prepare ourselves. He went for his training with his master, while I sought out my own.

During that period, amidst my harsh training, perhaps I had created this image of the boy I loved. How was he? Where was he? Was he safe? If not, would I be able to save him? These thoughts pulled me deeper into the an aberrant kind of love, for the false image of the boy who I hadn’t seen in years.

Was that really love?

When the blond haired knucklehead came back from his training, I could see how much he had grown. He may have been the same knucklehead I knew, but in some ways, I could see that something had changed within him.  

He may have grown stronger, but so had I. I didn’t want to feel left behind anymore. When he saw my strength, my growth, I couldn’t help but be amused at his awe. It was a surreal feeling, that feeling of acknowledgement. I knew I had trained hard. I knew I had become stronger than before. Even my master could tell how much I had grown. So why did his acknowledgement feel so … satisfying? Why was it  _his_  words that made me feel better?

Was that not love?

One day, I learned the truth; his truth. I learned of the monster that he carried within him. I learned of the threats it posed, I learned of why the elders hated him so much, and I understood how miserable his childhood had been for a crime he didn’t even commit. A sense of protectiveness grew in me, the desire to help him and his dream.  

Couldn’t I have started loving him then?

And what about the time I finally met the boy I had loved since I was a young girl again? The boy had turned into something so sinister, so dark. He wasn’t the boy we knew. He was someone who was way beyond reach, someone who could even kill me without batting an eye, not caring for his own teammates. How could I still have loved this new version of this person? Why did I keep holding on to my belief?

I wanted to love the one who stood by me. The one who trusted in me no matter what, the one who admired me for who I was, the one who saved me countless number of times, the one who inspired me to grow and become a better person. The boy who cared deeply for me, and I for him. The boy who, in fact, had fallen in love with me.

So why couldn’t I love him? What was holding me back? Was it that false image of love I had previously created for the person who had stopped caring for me? Or was this simply the desire to save my old teammate which was in the disguise of 'love’?

Meanwhile, we grew – my friend and I. We fought alongside, we learned so much, and understood even more. Even when he seemed to lose everything, he got back up. Even during the war, he kept growing – as a person as well as a fighter.  

I was even faced with the threat of losing him; I could’ve lost him forever, and it could all have ended right then and there. His dream would’ve been lost to the emptiness of death. My desperation was at its peak. My selfishness played its part, for the thought of losing him scared me deeply.

Was that desperation not love?

And I still continued to 'love’ the monster that tried to kill me, that no longer felt the need of my presence. The monster that continued to demean me, put me down. I must have realised that the boy I once knew and loved was long gone, so was the false image that I had created.

So why couldn’t I get over this so-called love? Was my desire to save him that strong?

It took time, but things may have started to get better. The monster we wanted to save from the darkness seemed to have slowly come into light. And right when we thought we finally got to him, he slipped away from our grasp almost immediately.

And yet again, I couldn’t do anything but cry and beg him to stay.  

Could that be called love in any shape or form?

It wasn’t my love that saved this person, it was _his_ persistence, his struggle to help his friend, his never-ending dedication towards his friend, his resolve to bring him back from the terrible path this friend had chosen. It wasn’t me. I couldn’t help him keep his promise.

I couldn’t even keep mine.  

All that mattered in the end was that they both were safe, and the monster was cured of his hatred. We got our teammate back, our happiness. “The promise of a lifetime” was kept, and the man I loved since I was a little girl was brought back to me, the man who apparently had learned to love me too. The ‘love’ I had spend years giving to him, was finally returned.

I should be happy, right?

So why am I not content? Why does it feel like something is missing? Why does it feel like  _someone_  is missing?  

In other words:  _why couldn’t I move on?_

And here I stand, married to the man I loved all my life. My daughter holds onto me with her tiny hands, while my husband is out there, protecting the village. The husband I haven’t seen since the birth of my child – our child. Our daughter is the proof of our love now. She’s holding our family together while he is out there. Our feelings are connected through this very child, or so it seems.

As I look at the family before me, celebrating the birth of their second child, a beautiful baby girl with her father’s beautiful blue eyes, I can’t help but feel a slight ache in my chest. The baby sleeps solemnly in her mother’s arms, while her elder brother who is just a few months older than my daughter, peers over at his new-born sister from over his father’s shoulder.

The father – the hero of the village, the hero who saved the world – has grown into a fine young man right before my eyes. He finally has a family, aside from our team. A family linked by blood and not just love, something he had been craving for since he was a kid. I should be happy for him.

So why do I feel so incomplete?

He’s married to the woman he loves and has two beautiful children now. He is happy. So am I. I have a family of my own too.

“Wanna hold her?” He asks me, breaking me out of my thoughts. When I just give a dazed expression in response, he points to the new born baby held in the arms of his wife, who is on the hospital bed in a state of exhausted bliss.

“No, that’s okay,” I say. “I am not that good with babies.”  _An extremely ridiculous lie._

He laughs. “You’re a doctor! And a mother. How can you not be good with babies?”

Something about his laugh warms my heart. I push the feeling away and shake my head. “No, I think she should be with you for now.”

“Come on, just for a little while.” He cracks a grin, shaking a finger at me. “I know you want to.”

I stiffen and unknowingly tighten my hold on my daughter. “I have to go,” I suddenly blurt out.

His face falls. “What?”

“You just got here,” his wife protests.

I realise how strange I must’ve sounded. “It’s just that my shift starts early today,” I lie. _Why am I lying?_ “I completely forgot about it, and now I’m late.”

“Oh,” he says as he stands up, disappointment clearly hinted in his voice. “Okay. Want me to come with you?”

_Yes_. “No, please. You have to stay here,” I say, waving him off. “You two, congratulations!” I smile at them, trying to make it seem as genuine as possible even with the ache in my heart growing.

“Thank you!” His wife smiles in return.

“Thank you,” he says in a low voice, but there is no hint of the happiness he previously displayed. His eyes reflect his worry.  _Damn it, he has always been able to see through me._  “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Of course, you dummy!” I laugh. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You better treat me big.”

He doesn’t reply.

Not wanting to prolong this, I look down at my daughter. “Come on, let’s go.” She nods.

As soon as I step out of the room and close the door behind me, my tears finally force their way out. I try to blink them away, but to no avail. I pick my daughter up in my arms and rush down the hallway. She repeatedly asks me what is wrong, but I just sob in response because I know the answer to her question.

The truth is: somewhere deep within, I love him. I have for a while now. In fact, I’ve loved him for a long time. I have wanted to be with him, all this time. I want to be with him, even now. I should’ve been the one with him, in that room, holding  _our_  child.

So why am I out here? What went wrong? Why have we turned out like this? Why aren’t we together like we were meant to be?

_Why can’t I love him?_

* * *

**_H I M_ **

He stares at the door for some time, not saying anything and remaining still. It was as though something had stirred deep within him, something he couldn’t understand. Her sudden change in behaviour worried him. Something clearly bothered her and he couldn’t really tell.

_Or could he?_

“What’s wrong?” His wife asks. “Something the matter?”

“No, it’s nothing,” he blurts out. He turns around and smiles, only to have her furrow her brows in worry.

“Then why are you crying?” she asks.

He stills. “Wh-what…” He runs his palm down his left cheek and feels a tear streaming down.  _That’s strange,_  he thinks.  _Why am I crying?_

At that moment, the pain in his chest starts to grow, as an unnamed emotion engulfs him, something he can’t understand. The tears don’t stop as he faces away from his wife. “I must be really happy…” He mumbles.

But he knows that it’s not true. On the contrary, it’s sadness that has brought him to tears. And he doesn’t know why.

He turns to face the door, and slowly paces towards it. “I’ll be back,” he assures as he pushes on the door handle.

His wife nods, still concerned. “Okay. Take your time.”

He closes the door behind him and stares down the hallway, the way his friend went. The aberrant tears continue to force their way out. A familiar feeling reaches out to him, a feeling he had suppressed for so long…      

_“Perhaps in another life…Sakura-chan,”_ he quietly says to himself.


End file.
